A Murder at the Corner of Cheery and Dark
by MDesign
Summary: "I have just been rung by a most intriguing man by the name of Eugene Starper who claimed instantly upon my answering that he had the most intricate and confusing case in the history of mysteries. I, of course, had doubts upon this, for as I have told you, every case is simply a copy of another, until he started to describe this problem of his."
1. Chapter 1

We had had but three days of rest since the last case, and we sat in close to silence, Sherlock and I, in the sitting room, awaiting a customer of ours. His name was Eugene Starper and he had called us earlier that day to ask if he would be permitted to enter our home with a case of his. Of course Sherlock, always hungry for another mystery, agreed. I had only just woken up and come down to breakfast when he burst into the room with his face full of excitement.

"Watson! I have the best of news!" He had exclaimed in a manner quite unlike him. I, startled, paused in raising my fork to my mouth and simply stared. Holmes seemed not to notice, and instead jumped straight into an explanation.

"I have just been rung by a most intriguing man by the name of Eugene Starper who claimed instantly upon my answering that he had the most intricate and confusing case in the history of mysteries. I, of course, had doubts upon this, for as I have told you, every case is simply a copy of another, until he started to describe this problem of his.

"Now, Mr. Starper is not a normal man. I had not known this then, but by a quick background read on him, I have found that he is one of the best detectives of this century, and may, I admit, be even better than I. Much of the case he seems to have already figured out. He told me this: a man was murdered at neigh of eight o'clock on this day nearly a year ago. This man went by the name of Jonathan Oper. He was not a particularly important man, but he was well off. As far as anyone knows, he had no enemies, but nor did he have many friends. Mr. Oper had only one close relation, and this was his daughter from his deceased wife, who had died on the exact day of his murder, one year earlier. His daughter, Miss Lucile Oper, has been living with a family friend, Rupert and Clara Young.

"I tell you this because the man who was recently found deceased was a relative of Mr. Young, his cousin who was visiting town. The man's name was Huston Young, the son of Rupert Young's brother. The brother died early from a stroke neigh on six years ago. Mr. Huston Young, however, was on the peak of his health and had just departed his cousin's house about an hour ago when they grew suspicious of foul play. You see, Huston had promised to call in on them when he arrived at his hotel, for they were worried he would lose his way in a new city. However, they also knew that the trip to said hotel was only half of an hour on foot, and less in a cab. When he still had not phoned in in two hours, the family went out after him. He was found, much to their dismay, not a mile from their home, on the exact spot that Miss Oper's father had been killed. After this, they immediately called up Mr. Starper.

"Starper arrived not five minutes after the call, according to him, and noticed right away that there were no footprints or marks leading away from the scene as it was raining and had been raining for several hours. This was a frustrating fact, for that eliminated the chance for a scent trail. Being a grand detective, he searched out in great circles, searching for mud tracks or an entry to some building, but, after around three hours, he returned to the site of the crime and proceeded to search the body, which had been, mercifully, covered by a hanging sheet by some kind soul from the family. Upon close observation, Starper found a piece of cloth, though very small, containing a single design of a crescent moon. Unfortunately, he could find no clue as to what this could mean, even within the family and most of their communications. He also found a small chip of iron upon the man's cheek, so small it could hardly be seen. He has already searched the iron mines around the city as to clues, but has thus far found none. Now, stumped, he has called upon me, for it seems that my name is quite well known."

Holmes finished with a self-satisifed look, but he turned back to me from where he had been pacing the floor as he narrated the information he had been provided. His head cocked at a slight angle as he watched me digest this information.

"So you accepted?" i question at last, not sure what else to say.

"But of course!" He exclaimed incredulously. "How could I have turned down such a golden opportunity of the exertion of the powers of my brain?" He gazed at me a moment longer. "By the way, Mr. Starper requested we come as soon as possible. You should run and get ready, and bring your breakfast to go."

"I never said I would help!" I protested. Holmes didn't look surprised or hurt.

"But of course you are! Don't speak such nonsense, man. Now go get ready, and be ready to leave in a half of an hour." He replied, turning and sauntering up the stairs. With one last look at my plate, I stood and headed back towards my room.


	2. Chapter 2

"How very queer! Holmes, did you notice the names of these streets?" I questioned as we hurried down the road to the site of the murder. Sherlock glanced up and I noticed his eyes already clouded with thoughts.

"Hmm? What, Cheery and Dark? What about them?" He muttered back as we approached the covered corpse.

"Just ironic, don't you think. Cheery and Dark, happy and sad, bright and mysterious." I mused back, but my thus far bubbly thoughts subsided as we saw the victim. His body was covered with a sheet, but his feet stuck out, and as we drew nearer, the man, whom I had not noticed, stepped out of the shadows, his face grim.

"Mr. Holmes?" He questioned tersely. My companion nodded grimly, his gaze on the still figure laid upon the ground.

"Yes. I assume you are Mr. Starper? This is my companion, Dr. Watson. He is to accompany me on all my endeavors in this case. Will that be a problem?" Quite unlike himself, his tone was slightly hostile.

"No, no, of course not." Mr. Starper agreed, giving me a glance before leading us over to the body. "This here is Mr. Huston Young, with not a thing but the fabric removed. I have police stationed at the main roads so as nobody comes back here to muck up the data. What think you, Mr. Holmes?"

"It is quite a case, if I understand you correctly. Do you know the cause of the murder of Mr. Oper?"

"I'm afraid not. We couldn't figure that one out either, but then this happened and we decided we had better bring in you, Mr. Holmes, because it seems that that wasn't just a petty crime. This area is pretty safe, for the most part, and the only other crimes here, 'for or after the first murder, were some robberies."

Sherlock frowned, but knelt beside the body and drew back the sheet, revealing the purple, bloated face of Huston Young. I felt bile rise in my throat at the sight.

"He was killed by this little dart in his neck, no doubt about that." Holmes announced after only a moment. It was here, behind his ear, and by the look of it, it is quite hollow." He tapped it with his finger, kneeling very stilly and holding the tiny dart to his ear. He nodded after a moment. "Quite so. As I suspected. That can account for his appearance, and also eliminates a common criminal. The poison used would have had to be Sulphur Mustard. Ghastly stuff. It's typically used for chemical warfare, but whoever killed this man concentrated it into this little scrap of metal and injected it straight into him. The reason of his bloating is the blisters it caused inside his face."

Holmes said this quite calmly, but I could see the discomfort and disgust in his face, and I, shocked and horrified, sagged against the wall beside me.

"Watson, duck!" Sherlock was suddenly on his feet sprinting towards me, but I dropped the instant he sounded the alarm. Not a second later, I heard a thunk where my head had been a moment before, and, looking up while scrambling away, I saw on of the darts, bigger than the one in Huston's neck, embedded in the brick. I jumped to my feet just as Sherlock dashed past me, having already pushed Starper ahead of him, and my companion grabbed my arm, hurrying me away.

We rounded the corner quickly, drawing several startled cries from the policemen and the people crowding to peer around them. Holmes dragged me to a shop across the street and threw open the door, pushing me in ahead of him and making straight for the back. Once there, he threw open the back door and pulled me into a busy street, only keeping us together by his hand grasping my arm tightly. This continued for several streets until we arrived at a building I did not recognize, but which Sherlock seemed to know well.

Releasing me, he hurried up to the door and administered several short, sharp raps to it, which for a moment yielded no result. I wondered briefly if the owner of the house was not to be home, but just as this thought crossed my mind, the door was flung open and there stood a man who I had not seen before. Sherlock, without speaking a word to him, pushed into the room, motioning me to follow. The man, quite surprised, had not moved from the door, but upon seeing Sherlock scowled slightly, and, upon seeing me hesitating outside, stood aside in as clear an invitation as any. Glancing around quickly to see that we weren't followed, I limped after Holmes.

Sherlock was sitting on a couch just past the entrance hall when I caught up to him, pulling out his pipe and lighter and gazing around, bored. Just as I stepped into the room, I heard the footsteps of the man whose home we had invaded coming up behind me, so I stepped off to the side, allowing him to pass into the sitting room also. He had a round face, with bright red cheeks and quite a potbelly, but his eyes were sharp as a hawks and a deep, almost black, brown. He wore a suit and I could see by the way his hair laid upon his head that he had recently worn a top hat. As he entered the room, his gaze turned in annoyance to Sherlock lounging on his couch.

"Whatever have you in mind, barging into my house like that, Sherrly?" he demanded, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red. Sherlock turned his placid gaze upon him slowly, almost pointedly.

"We were attacked at the crime scene, _Mikey, _and I could hardly go to my house. Yours was the first that I thought of, and I imagined that you would be glad to see me after so long a time. I must say, I am surprised you did not leave London yet. I thought you wished to move to Switzerland..?"

The man nodded at this, his gaze thoughtful.

"That I do. What better a place than one with the crisp, fresh mountain air and the frigid yet beautiful snow?" He swept out his arms as if already imagining he was in such a place.

"Always the poet, eh?" Sherlock responded, and the man turned to glare at him, before turning back to me.

"But how rude of me. I am Mycroft Holmes, the one and only brother of your acquaintance over there."


End file.
